


human perfect

by giraffingallday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing, Vomiting, fight fic, i mean... its hank, insecure hank, it sucked to write this but also i fucking love writing relationship fights, soft ending i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffingallday/pseuds/giraffingallday
Summary: Hank is being strangely distant, Connor tries to act as though things are normal until he can't anymore. A fight ensues.





	human perfect

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe how much fic im pumping out for this fandom,,, i know three isnt a LOT but it is for me because im so remarkably lazy u have no idea

Hank was upset, or angry, or, or something. Now it should be made clear that Connor was new to human emotions and thus new to deciphering emotion based actions; but he had become exceptionally well tuned to Hank. It started at night, Hank hadn’t come home, stumbled in at five in the morning – presumably after the bar owner got tired of him and kicked him out – and Connor went to greet him, voice his worry, but Hank had only stumbled past him and gone to lie in bed, nearly passed out before he hit the sheets. Connor decided he would go in standby on the couch, hurt by the dismissive attitude and not wanting to be in close proximity to the other man.

He became alert at seven, ready to start the day despite it being a Sunday. He knew Hank wouldn’t be awake until the alcohol was ready to leave his system in the form of painful vomiting several hours later, so he got himself dressed; athletic joggers, a t-shirt that smelled enough like Hank to be comforting, and a windbreaker, before clipping Sumo onto his leash and taking him for a walk.

They walked for a long time, wandering the streets of Detroit aimlessly, letting Sumo mark every fire hydrant they passed as his new territory. He watched the time, and calculated the walk so they arrived home to the sound of Hank heaving in the bathroom. Connor went straight to the kitchen and began making something for Hank to eat, rich in carbohydrates to help line his stomach after another night of damage. His LED blinked yellow when Hank wandered in and paused at the sight of Connor. There was no hand on Connor’s hip, no kiss to flashing blue on his temple, no gruff greeting or remark on how he shouldn’t do housework now that he was free. It made his indicator glow red when he turned around after plating scrambled eggs and toast, and saw Hank sat at the table, watching Connor, but looking away quickly when their eyes met. There was a bottle of beer open on the table, condensation telling Connor Hank had picked up day drinking once again, “What’re you making food for? S’not like you can eat.”

The slur in Hank’s voice told him that this beer was not the first of the morning, and he wondered where he’d miscalculated and missed Hank waking up. “I thought you might want to eat after throwing up.” Connor’s words were careful, measured, but the blinking red kept him from keeping secrets – maybe he should have it removed after all but, no, he didn’t want to keep secrets, he wanted Hank to ask what was wrong.

Hank didn’t say anything, but he lifted his gaze and squinted at the red on Connor’s temple before screwing a finger against his own, “I think your blinky thing is broken, s’red.” Connor set down the plate in front of Hank and shook his head, biting back words of hurt. Hank was not just one beer in, a peek in the fridge would most likely tell Connor that he had nearly made it through a twelve pack; Hank was drunk.

“I am in full working order. You should eat Hank, and perhaps sleep off those beers; levels like yours could become dangerous.” He considered his options; he could leave, say he wanted to get in extra hours, or he could stay and try and work out whatever Hank was looking in the bottom of a bottle for – unfortunately alcohol didn’t come with golden tickets so Connor would be without an answer unless he properly assessed.

Hank started eating without protest; probably starving with only alcohol in his stomach, possibly already having been sick more than once and it was barely noon. He sat back after shovelling down half the plateful and Connor fidgeted, not sure if he should sit or leave. After a moment, he sat. “You don’t _understand_ ; I need these beers with you around.” There was a literal spark in Connor’s left arm, miscalculated energies from the sudden wave of upset that passed over him. This was Connor’s fault? When had he done something wrong? Could he fix his mistake? “I think you should move out.”

The steady red began flashing rapidly; Connor’s mouth fell open as he searched for the right words of protest, and instead all he could manage was, “Why?” Voice cracking, intentional, so Hank knew how startled he was by the suggestion.

Hank pushed back from the table roughly, “Because I fucking said so, it’s my house ain’t it?” He started off to their – his - room, snatching the beer to take with him, and groaned when Connor followed. There were so many thoughts racing through the androids mind that he couldn’t help but push when he knew he shouldn’t; he had to know _why_.

“I don’t understand, I thought I’d been a good housemate. Our relationship developed into something roma-” He was cut off sharply my Hank spinning on his heel to slam the palm of his hand against Connor’s chest, making him stumble only a little. “If I did something to upset you, please allow me a chance to correct it.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, fucking _dumbass_ Connor. You ever consider maybe I didn’t want a _dumbass_ living with me?” He snarled the words, Connor detected that the other reeked of both booze and vomit. He wished Hank would kiss him despite it.

Connor trained his eyes on Hank, trying to act rationally, “We should have this discussion when you’re sober.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but there were too many instabilities filling his systems, so it wavered horribly; he was grateful he couldn’t produce tears.

Rather than agreeing with Connor’s idea, Hank pressed closer, getting in Connor’s space as an intimidation tactic; Connor was familiar with it, “Yeah maybe we should, but we’re havin’ it right fucking now aren’t we? You know why?” Connor shook his head, “Because you always push me. Be healthier Hank, I’ll miss you when you die Hank, you should wake up on time for work Hank, I enjoy our time together Hank, _I love you Hank_. All fucking bullshit.” He said ‘I love you’ with such mockery and distaste that Connor had to close his eyes.

“I do love you.” It was last ditch, the only words he could find. Hank could be angry and drunk and as mean as he wanted, but he didn’t get to take away how Connor felt, no matter how fresh the feelings.

“Bullshit.” He slurred horribly on the word, pushing himself off Connor to waver in front of him, “You just got hooked on the first person you met, betcha would’ve fallen for fuckin’ Reed if he was y’partner. You stupid. I’m fat and old, halfway dead already. Go fall in love w’someone like you, fuckin’ another android or whatever.” He was barely even talking to Connor anymore, and realization dawned as Connor came to the conclusion that this behavior was a result of severe insecurity. He softened, no less hurt, but far more determined, the red on his temple switched to yellow.

“Hank, I do love you.” He stepped forward, Hank stepped back, “I didn’t ‘get hooked’ on you because I was assigned to you. I’m well aware of your condition of health, and I still love you. Android or human is not a deciding factor for me.” Hank’s expression turned sour, then pained, “You don’t need to push me away, I want to be here. I’d like to make this decision for myself, if you’ll let me.”

Hank looked at him, twisted face a mix of rage and sadness, he opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, he threw his freshly eaten breakfast up onto Connor’s feet, dirtying his socks and pants. He let out a pained groan and rushed into the bathroom, Connor followed and wet a cloth with cool water before kneeling beside Hank. He threaded his fingers through Hank’s hair, grabbing a nearby elastic to tie it back while Hank expelled the contents of his stomach. If nothing else, it was going to at least be sobering, which might help reduce his anger.

After a minute or so of heaving, Hank rested his cheek on the toilet seat, watched Connor’s face as he pressed the cool fabric to Hank’s forehead in hopes of making him feel better, he worried it was too cold when Hank squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain, “You know you’re perfect don’t ‘cha?”

Connor tilted his head to the side, confused, “I was designed for optimal performance.” He parroted off, but Hank shook his head in annoyance.

“I don’t mean computer perfect Connor, I just tore you a new one and you’re pressing a cold cloth to my head while I puke the fucking food you made for me. I mean human perfect.” It was a nice statement, especially considering the harsh words Hank had been dealing only a few moments ago, though not ideal, vomiting seemed to have improved Hank’s mental clarity impressively.

“Thank you.”

“Look, Connor, we gotta – oh fuck.” Hank screwed his eyes shut again, a wave of nausea setting him off kilter, “We need ‘ta have a conversation. When I’m not so fucked.” He took in a slow breath to steady himself before continuing, “Gotta figure out what’s been keepin’ ya here, cause I don’t think it’s Sumo’s charm.”

Connor was confused again, and he pulled back the cloth to refold it, pressing a fresh cold spot to Hank’s cheek, “It’s you, Lieutenant, I don’t think there’s a conversation required. Like I said earlier, I love you.”

Hank picked his head up, falling back to sit on the floor. He flushed the toilet and snatched the cloth from Connor’s hands, pulling Connor’s left foot into his lap to start scrubbing the vomit out of his clothes, “Nah you don’t, you just didn’t have anywhere else to go after Markus flipped your switch. I got greedy and kept you for myself, but it don’t mean you love me.” He sounded resigned while he worked the mess out of Connor’s clothes, but did it with such care that it was the android’s turn to be angry, did Hank not see how he made Connor feel? Were human minds that dense when processing information?

“Markus didn’t make me a deviant Hank. You did.” He words were hard, and Hank’s movements paused so he could look at Connor, still cradling his foot like he was made of glass instead of a metal more durable than Hank had ever previously encountered. “I didn’t become deviant because he told me to; I became a deviant because you showed me compassion and taught me empathy. You pulled me down from attempting to cross the highway, so I saved your life when you nearly fell off that building, yet you were grateful as though it wasn’t something you expected. I found you passed out from alcohol consumption and learned that you wanted to end your life because you blamed androids and yourself for the passing of your son. I felt sadness for you. I met Sumo, and learned that you had a nurturing streak. You defended my disposable life by threatening Detective Reed when he pressed a gun to my head. You praised me for sparing the life of a machine at great cost to our investigation. Markus simply told me to decide who I was; you taught me who I wanted to be. I may not be an expert of interpreting emotions, but to me, that means I love you.” He paused, smiled, Hank had tears in his eyes, but his breath was only slightly laboured, after a moment, he smiled back.

“You know Connor, you really are a fucking idiot.” He pushed the foot off his lap to instead pull Connor by the wrist into his arms; the android landed happily against Hank and blinked blue blue blue when he kissed him. Analysis detected beer, stomach acid, partially digested food, saliva. Connor filed away that particular combination under the large file name ‘Hank’, “I shouldn’t have said that shit to you. But I really can’t understand for a second what programming error made me so goddamn lucky.”

Connor pulled back, pushing himself into a more comfortable position, knees on either side of Hank’s lap, weight resting on his thighs, hands pressed against the familiar shape of Hank’s shoulders, “Do you still want me to move out?” He was ticking yellow on his temple, Hank let out a bark of laughter.

“No Connor, I’m afraid I’m going to be a little more selfish, you’re not going anywhere.” Hank squeezed his waist and pulled him closer, hands sliding to Connor’s back and pulling him in for a hug.

Connor allowed himself to turn on his heat detectors and embrace the warmth of Hank, he smiled against the thin material of his t-shirt, “I would prefer for you to pursue more selfish acts in the future.” They both laughed this time, and Hank nodded against his hair.

“Something tells me I’m gonna be doing just that, sweetheart.” A paused, and then, “You know, you showed me who I wanted to be too. I love ya.”

Connor smiled, pressed closer, Sumo scratched at the door and the rumble of exasperated laughter from Hank made Connor more sure than ever about this decision; he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments and kudos give me life and if you liked this check out my other fics!
> 
> if you want to hit me up on my dbh [tumblr](https://fkin-androids.tumblr.com/) please do! im always down to make new friends!


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